Nothing is True, Not Even Time
by donalgraeme
Summary: I am an Assassin. I track down Templars and kill them. But the Brotherhood is losing. The Templars are too strong. So, I'm attacking their roots. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Including time travel. M-ish for blood, gore, and more.


**Lo and behold, I branch out once again! Say hello to my Assassin's Creed fic. Expect violent spoilers if you haven't beaten both games. With that warning, let us commence!**

* * *

My name is Seraphim "Sera" Marks. I am an Assassin.

Like most, I was born into the Brotherhood. I grew up near Montreal, in the rolling hills near Fleuve Saint-Laurent. It was a small settlement, barely one hundred people. All of us were either Assassins or allies of the Brotherhood, seeking refuge from our enemy, the Templars. Even at a young age, I sensed that we were fighting a losing war. The Templars were too powerful; the world was literally at their fingertips. Their public face, Abstergo, held half the health care contracts in the northern hemisphere, and God only knows who else works for them.

But, that wasn't important. The Brotherhood had endured for a thousand years, fighting to protect the innocent. It didn't matter that we were losing; as long as one of us were still alive, free will would still have a guardian. The Templars want to take over, make us all slaves. Man wasn't made to dress up like a sheep and follow the shepherd; our individuality, our ideas, what makes us unique, is the very base of humanity. Take that away, and our souls will die. That's why the Templars have to die.

I started training when I was ten. I was too young to understand the scope of our mission, but I did know that my family and my friends were fighting for something good. In my mind, that was all I needed. So I worked. Every second of the day not spent with my home-schooling mom was spent learning how to fight, how to hide, how to kill. The idea of death troubled me, but I grew to know that sometimes, the only way things could get better, was for the source of the suffering to disappear.

I excelled. I was heralded as a prodigy. By age 12, I could give a brown belt a run for his money, and win a game of hide-and-seek with twenty people looking for me. By 15, I could pin down any attacker without getting a scratch; the bruises on my sparring partners proved it. On my sixteenth birthday, I was given my hidden blade. It was a rite of passage, a sign that not only was I able to kill, but that I was deemed wise enough to do it for the right thing.

The Templars attacked the next day. They'd found us. We were butchered. Twenty-seven families… gone. I could only watch in horror as they swarmed in, killing everyone I loved, while I stood frozen in my practice field. One of them spotted me. I didn't think about my mom or Papa or Seymour, my first crush. I didn't think about the fact the house that had witnessed all my awkward moments was burning. I just turned and _ran_. I ran without any thought of where I was going or who was following.

When my mind was itself again, I was in Marieville, twenty miles from my home, now ashes. A moving couple had found me passed out on the side of Route 15. I thanked them for their kindness, but snuck out the following night: I couldn't stay in one place. So, there I was: a Canadian minor with no money, no passport, and nothing but the clothes on her back. All I had to remind me of home was my hidden blade.

Through sheer teenage tenacity and guile, I snuck across the border. From there, my life was a haze of various diners I worked at for food, and fear that the Templars would track me down again. I took great care to stay off the grid: no driver's license, cash only, fake name, no cell. I cut myself off from the modern world. My world was nothing but fear and confusion, wrapped around a burning core of pain and anger at the ones who'd killed my home.

Eventually, I was tracked down by the Brotherhood. I was 19. Once again, my world had purpose. I joined the ranks, carrying each mission with an efficiency and ruthlessness bordering on the insane. If I was given a target, they didn't die: they were wiped off the face of the earth. Twelve different assassinations in twenty months with minimal resources: I wasn't caught once.

Maybe I worked too well. The normal teams of four didn't exist for me. I was contacted by a regular informant, and that was all the teamwork I had. I was called a sociopath, a machine. People were scared of me. My hatred of the Templars had taken on a life of its own. I lived in supplied apartments, lived off microwave food, and went without the conveniences of entertainment or society. My world was small, only with room for one thing.

Sad, isn't it. I wasn't able to legally drink, and I was already a jaded killer.

One day, I got another mission, bigger than any before. A Piece of Eden had been found in New York. The Templars had written the history books, and our archives had been regularly burned. I knew vaguely of beings known as Those Who Came Before, but had nothing concrete. What I _did_ know about were the Pieces of Eden, created by Those Who Came Before. They were the source of the Templars power. A millennium of corruption and slaughter, all in pursuit of these strange artifacts. The most prominent figures in our history had secretly hunted for the tools to bring about world domination.

I couldn't afford failure. I'd heard news of the Animus through the grapevine. Abstergo had managed to find a map of the pieces, stolen from the genetic memory of an Assassin that had ran away from the Brotherhood. I couldn't begrudge him. Growing up, there had always been an undercurrent of tension in the settlement. Everyone had to work hard to not show their formless anxiety. If I hadn't have had training to distract me, I would have been tearing me hair out. This guy hadn't even known the truth.

Still, the past didn't matter. What did matter was that the Templars were already near-invincible. If they got another piece, the free world was doomed. Hence my mission. I took the bus to the city of dreams, a blade hidden in the crowd, hoping to prevent a nightmare.

* * *

My safe house was in Queens. Good. Any Templar would have stuck out like a sore thumb. I took a brief moment staring out at Ozone Park, before turning to work. The apartment was Spartan and tiny; just the way I liked it. I turned on the laptop I'd found already here, before clicking on the only icon: 'Mission'.

The Piece of Eden was a mirror. It had been found in a ditch near the Kenya coastline. The 'experts' had concluded that it was a particularly fine remnant of the Maya's infamous gold trade. The Templars had, through their near-limitless connections, ensured that it would be find its home in the Museum for African Art, despite the fact the museum usually stuck to tribal masks and bead necklaces. It was to arrive at midnight tonight, where the curator, a Templar himself, would make sure it wound up under lock and key, never to be seen again.

That's where I came in. I was to sneak in, grab the crate before the curator got to it, and hide until a team came to pick it up. It seemed simple enough: security wasn't that high and the streets of Manhattan were the perfect maze to get lost in. It seemed too easy. Then again, the curator had pulled some strings with NYPD. There'd be an extra patrol in the area. One slip-up and I'd wind up in a nation-wide man hunt. Well, woman hunt, but still.

I ate at some local deli. Pastrami to die for. When I got back, I let the pleasant exterior I'd put up fall, revealing the real me. I was a huntress, cold, calculating, yet savage in my ferocity. This is what the world had made me. The scary part was that I enjoyed this half-assed existence.

I strapped on my hidden blade. It was beautiful, in a simple way: a ceramic bracer, with the carbon steel blade that would extend with a lovely 'schink' when I tensed my wrist. I cleaned the blade, before letting it retract into its lead-lined case. I had a set of throwing knives, harnessed around my belt. It was humbling, in a way, to know that in a world of technology where millions could be killed at the push of button, the best way to kill was still a stab to the heart. I had all I needed; the Templars didn't approve of guns, and I could take any melee weapon right out of an enemy's hands. If they lived that long.

I walked out of the apartment, my weapons hidden by a tan hoodie two sizes too big. I flagged a cab. The guy seemed more interested in my looks than my cash. Maybe a quick low-down on how I look is required. I stand tall at 5'11'', and it's all toned muscle. My knife-straight hair is black as jet, kept just long enough that I could do it up in a bun if needed. My eyes are an ice-blue; apropos, considering my personality. My chest was enough that I had to fend off more than a few 'looks'. I could have been a model, I suppose. But no, I was instead an angel of death.

The cab made its way through the labyrinthine traffic, getting closer by inches to the hive of lights known as Manhattan. It was stunning. A lighter woman than I would have been moved. All I saw were escape routes. We passed Times Square, in all its splendor. Maybe I would have dinner at Planet Hollywood. Yeah, right Sera. Hang onto that dream.

I got out two streets away from my destination. I could see it even from here. Taking up a city block by itself, the hodgepodge of differently-storied buildings glimmered like a cubist's dream. I had an hour until the delivery took place; in that time, I had to break into a closed, New York building without being spotted. Some would say 'madness'; I say… kid's stuff.

Scaling the actual building was out of the question. Luckily, this was Manhattan. Right across the street, I found a promising roof that was close enough that I could reach the ledge of a window on the museum. From their, I just had to do a little urban mountain climbing. Meshing into the crowd like a fish in the shoal, I calmly made my way towards my springboard.

I slunk into the alley behind my building. I found a bum, who ignored me, and a punk couple making out right where I planned to climb the building. They were in the way. I snuck up behind the couple, who were lost in each other. I was probably doing the kids a service: they were a bit young, and a city alley was hardly the best place to be deflowered.

My hand struck out like a snake, hitting the nerve cluster in her neck through the bleached locks. He didn't even notice, probably thinking he'd made her weak at the knees. I put him in a headlock even as she slid to the ground. He made a gasping sound, but no one was close enough to hear. He fell unconscious in thirteen seconds flat. Making sure they were comfortable, I turned my attention to the challenge ahead of me.

Parkour was the newest gimmick in video games today. I do it for a living. I rushed at the wall, only to redirect my momentum upwards, reaching high enough for my hand to reach the lowest window of the apartment complex. I saw the path ahead clearly: ten stories to the roof. I got started. I could do handstand push-ups, people. I might have shocked a few tenants when I blocked their window, but overall I climbed the building with the ease of a spider.

I took a brief rest on the roof, but not long. I turned my eyes to the Museum in front of me. I was facing the second-tallest building. At a full sprint and the perfect leap, I could reach the next-to-last window towards the top. I needed that leap. I calmed my breathing, entering my element. The ambient noise dwindled to a whisper, the glare of the lights dimmed; the world had shrunk to the window I had to reach. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I shed all thoughts.

I rushed forward, the gravel flying behind me. I placed my foot on the ledge for a split second, before leaping, all of my energy leaving through the ball of my foot. I was soaring, the window drawing close. Expertly, I caught the ledge just as I was about the crash downwards to my death. My arm grew taut as it absorbed the strain. With dexterous skill and speed born from three years of experience, I started my climb. My hoodie blended well with the metal of the building, and my black jeans were near unnoticeable in the gloom.

I reached the roof of one of the cubes. Two or three stretched below me like stepping stones. My eyes searched for the tell-tale blinking light of a camera, but I was safe; the cameras were inside. I had to get in. In theory, all the windows had alarms, but in practice there would be at least one with a dead battery. It was simply a question of finding that window. My sneakers made little sound as the trekked across the gravel.

Twenty minutes till the delivery, I found it on the eighth floor. Now, how to open a locked window whilst hanging from the ledge of said window. Free-hanging from my right arm, I thrust with all the force leverage allowed, my blade extending. The window shattered. I hastily climbed in. The hallway was empty except for an exhibit on rite-of-passage staffs. "Brava, Sera. Brava." I muttered to myself. I went over the Intel in my head: the case with the PoE would arrive in the lobby under guard. The curator would open the case himself.

Keeping an eye out for cameras, I made my way down the stairs. I wound up leaping across stories to avoid the periodic cameras, but I was used to this. At five minutes till, I found myself in a dark nitch that overlooked the shop, which was the entrance for some strange reason. All the guards were there, looking antsy. I waited.

Right on time, a commotion occurred near the doors. With little fanfare, a wooden crate was wheeled in, watched like a hawk by the security. I went on high alert, my body tensing like a bowstring: the moment was coming. I would observe, until my instincts screamed that _now_ was the time to strike. Until then, I would wait. The crate was wheeled into the center of the lobby.

A black man in a fine suit made his way through the sepulchral lobby, his presence demanding. The guards unconsciously stood at attention. The man strode up, looking at the crate with unhidden hunger. His sonorous voice pierced the silence. "Well? Someone get me a damn crowbar!" The metal implement was proffered. The man seized it, before attacking the crate. Nails started to bend.

NOW. It was a silent command from my instincts. I obliged. I rushed forward like a shot from a bullet. I barely made any sound on the tile, despite my speed; I was on them like a ghost. The first guard went down with a clean strike from my blade through the soft tissue at the back of the head. Before he even started falling, I'd taken down the other with a stab to the lung. I saw, as if in slow motion, the other guards take notice, some already reaching for their guns or batons. Like a deadly dance, I pulled the ten throwing knives from my belt, one at a time, each one hitting with deadly accuracy. A dozen dead in the time needed to tie a shoelace.

One of the original guards for the crate, evidently more trained, had his baton already extended, before taking a swing at my jaw. I side-stepped, reaching out to grab the thing as it passed. I kicked the man in his side hard, and he instinctively loosened his fingers. I pulled the weapon from his grasp. With little aplomb, I shattered his jaw with my leonine strength. He went down in gurgled screams. The other guard to the crate made a swipe. I shifted the baton to my left hand to block, before getting in his guard to headbutt him. As his head rolled back from the impact, I brought my right fist up with the full force of my body. His windpipe collapsed. He too fell. I tossed the baton at his feet.

I turned to face the Templar. He was pale in fear, frozen in the position he'd been in when the attack started. I charged forward. He tried to block with the crowbar, but was much too slow. I jumped into the air, landing on him, straddling him and immobilizing his arms. My blade came down in the same movement, diving into the flesh of his neck. Warm blood splattered my face, but I paid it no mind. "Bitch," he swore weakly, before his body went limb.

I stood up, wiping the blood off my face with my sleeve. The perfect kill. Nothing less had been expected. I turned to the crate, picking up the crowbar. Just as the lid flew off under my strength, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold. The static of radio communication. My head whipped around, my eyes sending facts to my brain faster than it could keep up with. One of the guards had lasted longer from the knife. My aim had been off. Weakly, he smirked at me, even as I heard a siren pierce the night.

"Fuck!" I shouted in frustration and slight fear. This wasn't good. By the time I left the building, it could be surrounded by snipers. I had to be quick. I dived to the open crate. Inside, amid a bed of Styrofoam, was a mirror. It was made of gold, with a simple handle. It seemed to glow with an internal light, and, as I grabbed it, I saw that the back of the face was covered in a design of simple, twisting lines that somehow contrived to look futuristic. The hairs of my arm stood up, as if in contact with static.

In the brief time it took me to reach the still-open doors through the shop, red and blue lights were already lighting the sky. I exited, and faced the end of my world. Mechanically, I listed the facts in my head. I was surrounded by police cars, officers pointing their handguns at me. With so many, aim wouldn't matter; I'd be made into Swiss cheese. Even as I stood there, I saw a helicopter approach from the distance. The police had been on a hair-trigger, it seemed.

The drone of the standard 'We have you surrounded' speech passed over my head, not quite reaching my ears. I was a deer in headlights. I'd never been this compromised. I couldn't see any way out, even as my analytical mind considered the possibilities. I heard the officers cock their guns, like a metallic symphony. In a daze, I held up my hands. That's when I remembered: I had a Piece of Eden.

It was like I was back at that field, the Templar pointing me out. There was no pause for thought. I merely reacted. I squeezed the mirror, every neuron I had projecting _'Go!'_ at the gold cosmetic device, which was hopefully much more. There was nothing one instant, and the next it was warm in my hand. A blinding flash illuminated the area, the sun glowing at midnight. When it cleared, the cops who'd guarded their retinas scanned the area. There wasn't anyone there.

* * *

I was floating in space. All around, above, and below me there were stars, some of them startlingly close. Comets soared across my sight, their celestial tails glowing the darkness. I found I could breath. All these impossibilities paled in comparison to the person immediately in front of me. She would have made Miss Universe cry in jealousy. Every single aspect of her, from her face to her body to her playful expression, overflowed with a beauty and perfection that instantly made me feel inferior, insignificant. She was in some futuristic-looking cat suit, perfectly accentuating her curves, neither small nor too big. In her hand, she held the mirror.

I could only gape in shock, my conscious mind stuck in a system error as it tried to capture the situation it was in, failing miserably. The woman brought up a manicured finger, and pushed it to her red, full lips, making a shushing sound. She spoke then, in a voice that could have made sour milk fresh. "Please, be quiet. We only have a limited time together."

She cleared her throat, and even that sounded like a choir of angels on its own. "I am Venus, though I was once Aphrodite. My kind and I came before." That brought me back to reality. Realizing you're in the presence of a veritable goddess does that for you. "I will be direct: you will lose this war. Those you call the Templars have grown too powerful. It is only a matter of time before they gain enough of our artifacts to subjugate the human race, as my kind once did."

I regained control of my mouth. I asked the most obvious question. "Why am I here?" A playful grin emerged on the self-proclaimed goddess. She answered "This mirror of mine is unique among our other artifacts. It was a gift to me from my brother." In some small corner of my mind, I processed that the father of Aphrodite had been formed when Ouranos's genitals had touched the sea. The guy who'd cut them had been Kronos, titan and lord of time.

"This mirror allows one to peer across time, and even travel across it. However, it is fragile in the hand of one not of my kin. This function can only be used once. As such, I preserved a fragment of myself within my mirror, that I might aid you when you used it." Somehow, the knowledge that this being had known that I specifically would be the one to use the mirror didn't surprise me. "You seek to defeat the Templars. I seek to guarantee the artifacts of my people will never be used to do harm. The only answer to our mutual problem is the complete rewriting of what you call history."

I blinked at that. "Why me?" I asked, for a second my harsh persona cracking. It was all too much. I could barely process all that was going on. The once-omnipotent goddess merely grinned again. "Because, you are the perfect person for the job, Sera. Also, I love a decent love story." Before I could make sense of that, the not-woman held out the mirror. Dumbly, I took it. Once again, I was consumed by light.

* * *

I found myself on the ground. It wasn't the soft earth or harsh gravel of the North I was used to. It was hard, red dust that seemed to radiate heat like an open flame. I cautiously stood up, my rational side immediately trying to figure out how any of this had happened. In my hand, I felt the mirror disintegrate into dust. It was blown away in the warm breeze.

Instinct and training took over. I surveyed my surroundings. I was in a dead-end alley, surrounded by low, stone walls. They were a rich cream, and seemingly hand-placed. Cautiously, I made my way out of the alley, into ordered chaos. It looked like an Middle Eastern bazaar, with stalls aplenty, all the men wearing the loose robes everyone associated with Arabs. I couldn't remember what they were called. The woman wore flowing dresses and veils, expertly weaving through the giant crowd people while simultaneously balancing amphorae on their heads and in some cases leading children clutching their skirts. Everyone had dark skin and dark eyes.

I brought up my hood, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. In the shadow of the hood, my skin could pass for the right tone, though my eyes stood out. Strangely enough, everyone seemed to be speaking English. I hid in the alley, my trained eyes finding details where they were to be found; inconsistencies that slowly led me to believe the time-travel theory. There weren't any power or phone lines, for one. No cars, either. The fact that when a group of city guards went past, they were dressed in armor and wore swords. Finally, I saw the famous Dome of the Rock over the walls of the alley.

Israel. More specifically, Jerusalem. I was in the birth land of the Brotherhood. If I accepted that this wasn't all a hallucination brought upon by the police attacking me outside the museum and sending me into a coma, then the facts were easy to infer. Venus had said I'd have to rewrite all of history. The Templars had been formed during the Crusades, the Brotherhood formed in opposition shortly after the start of the Third. As far as progress went, this was the start of history, when the Knights Templar had found the first Piece of Eden in the Holy of Holies and started rediscovering the technologies left behind by Those Who Came Before.

My mind went to work. If I had a snowball's chance in hell in stopping the Templars, I had to get in touch with the Assassins. _'Yeah, right Sera! A woman in strange clothing in the 12__th__ century claiming she's from the future! That'll fly.'_ As I contemplated what to do, I heard a commotion. I stuck my head out of the alley. I followed my ears, automatically blending into the crowd.

Jerusalem was more of a maze than New York; two minutes here were enough to convince me. However, my ears were more trustworthy than my sense of direction. In no time, I found the source of the discord. A group of three guards were harassing a woman off in a corner. The people around me averted their eyes, trying to be inconspicuous. I watched in mounting anger as the guards, one of them keeping watch, pushed the woman back and forth, and ignoring her protests.

Their voices reached my sensitive ears. "Come on, woman! Our throats are dry and we are weary from our work! Surely you can offer the shelter of your home for three tired guards!" That one laughed, while the other simultaneously pushed her roughly and copped a feel. Even from this distance, I could see she was crying. She was probably younger than my almost-21.

The Creed rang in my ears. _'Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, hide in plain sight, and never compromise the Brotherhood.'_ The first tenant revolved around the Brotherhood's mission to protect the innocent. I couldn't let this continue. Like a crouching lioness, I stalked toward my prey. The crowd parted like a wave as I made my way towards the guards. The one keeping watch took notice. As I drew near, he said "You! Begone!"

I answered in a much different manner than he expected. Rushing forward, I brought my left arm forward. Long training had made me practically ambidextrous. My blade pierced his thick leather armor like a hot knife through butter. I'd intentionally chosen the liver, always a gusher, to draw the other guards' attention. As the corpse fell streaming to the ground, the men turned away from their 'toy' to the sight of a mysterious stranger standing over the body of their comrade.

One, the one who'd been talking, stared at me in confusion. I took great pleasure when I dashed forward, this time going up through the jaw to the brain. He collapsed, and a woman in the crowd behind me started screaming. I turned to the third one, who drew his sword, anger beginning to cloud his features. He swung at me wildly, his sword slicing the air. In a sinuous movement, I hopped back out of range. Even as the sword passed where my torso had been, I moved forward, my arm straight and lethal as a spear. His heart felt my steel.

My first hour in Jerusalem, and I'd already killed three people. I'm pretty sure that was a personal record. I turned to the potential rape victim, who was staring at me with wide eyes. "T-thank you, stranger!" she stuttered out, seemingly overcome with awe. I grinned, my kinder side showing itself for this poor girl. "Don't mention it." I said, before turning away. In my experience, it's best to get away from cooling bodies.

I was soon lost in the crowd, following the general ebb and flow, since I had no idea where I was. I had a vague plan: use the standard Assassin methods on those that needed it until I was approached. That, or tail an Assassin should I find one. From there… who am I kidding, I haven't planned that far. I glanced around, looking for anything of interest that might help me. Ten minutes later, I saw it. Sitting on a bench, appearing nonchalant, was an Assassin.

Whoever he was, he must have been high-ranking. He was heavily armed, though he somehow managed to make it inconspicuous. He had a sword at his belt, and I counted no less than three holsters for throwing knives. He wore a white tunic and pants, with a red sash around his waist. A cowl went over his head. The thing that gave him away, however, was his missing left ring finger. Older models of the hidden blade had been designed to ensure 'commitment,' back when the Brotherhood had been deeply religious.

Gold. I debated what to do. The tailing option was out, as this guy would probably turn around and lunge the instant he knew I was following. That left talking to him directly. I briefly considered a pack of lies that would crumble upon closer inspection. Nope. Besides, I was supposed to be rewriting history. The butterfly effect was the least of my worries. First things first; I had to get his attention.

I walked up to him, waiting directly in front of him. He looked up. It was hard to see his face, but I managed. He had honey-brown eyes, hard like amber. There was a vertical scar at the right corner of his lip. His hair was buzzed and black. I saw that he was rather handsome, though his expression lessened the impact. He looked like I did on a bad day: arrogant, icy, and ready to kill as soon as look. I felt him regarding me, analyzing me. Now I knew how those around me felt.

Silently, I brought my left hand up, curling the ring finger. His expression changed infinitesimally; if I hadn't stared at myself in the mirror so much, I wouldn't have been able to catch it. It was freaky how much like me this guy seemed to be. He showed curiosity. He stood up, and I noticed he was slightly taller than me, and only a tad older. I turned around and moved through the crowd. I felt him stalking behind me.

My destination, a small alley across the street, was soon reached. I moved deep into the shadows, only now noticing that I was sweating. The Israeli sun was unforgiving, and everything was in bright colors. In my hoodie, it felt like an oven. I pulled back my hoodie in an effort to let out some heat. When I felt I couldn't be seen from the street, I turned around. The man was there, calm yet cautious. He seemed slightly surprised, but not as much as I expected. I'd been under the impression that a woman wearing anything but a dress was a sin in and of itself in this time.

I cut to the chase. "What's your name?" I asked, wondering who this guy was. Again, a tiny shift in expression: confusion. "My name is Altair. Who are you?" he asked in a velvety tenor, though his tone was demanding. Meanwhile, I raised my eyebrows. Damn. Altair ibn La-Ahad himself. This guy was the Michael Jordon of Assassins. Even with our pitiful records, this guy stood out. He had been one of the greatest assassins in all of history.

I snapped myself back to reality. Truth, I decided, would make its debut. "I'm not sure how to say this, so I'll just come out with it." My modern phrasing seemed to confuse him further, only to turn into surprise when I allowed my hidden blade to show. Of course, his face had remained like stone the entire time; I was measuring his emotions in nigh imperceptible twitches and movements.

"My name is Seraphim Marks, though I prefer Sera. I am an Assassin from the future." I paused to see how this bomb would go off. Altair's expression remained surprised for a second, before turning calculating once more. I noticed that his hand was oh-so-slowly moving towards his back. Probably a dagger. I retracted my blade, waiting for his reaction.

"Prove it." It was practically a bark; obviously, this guy was used to having his way. I tried to find a way to prove it, considering the mirror was now dust in the winds. I finally decided on my hoodie: modern textile work would have marveled the people in the past. Now in my short sleeved black t-shirt, I handed him the hoodie. "Check this; it wasn't made by tailors in this time." He, with barely a moment of hesitation, took my primary covering. I enjoyed the shade as he inspected the zipper mechanism, the tags inside, and the overall quality of jacket itself, stitched by a machine. He handed it back to me, and the put it back on; I knew that I had to worry about sunburn more than heat stroke.

"I agree that the garment is beyond even the finest tailors I know of, and you carry a hidden blade. However, I'm not prepared to accept your claim," he said, showing an interest behind the what I was beginning to realize was customary overconfidence. I nodded, having not fully expected him to believe me at face value. "I will lead you to the Bureau. The master there will test your claim." With that, he turned and started to climb the building.

I raised an eyebrow. Did this guy honestly think that he could outrun me? I rushed at the building, climbing with the deftness of a monkey. When I reached the roof, Altair was only a short distance ahead of me. I easily kept pace with him, shadowing his every step. He looked back, only to nearly stumble when he saw how close I was. He upped the pace; so did I.

It didn't take me long to realize he was testing me. In leading me to the Bureau, he was ensuring whether or not I was actually an Assassin. He leapt across buildings, sprinted across beams, even once took a leap of faith. Though the practice had fallen out of style in my time, considering the shortage of haystacks in most areas, I'd still practiced in case I ever knew where a pile of mattresses were when fleeing across rooftops. I fearlessly followed him. After that, Altair seemed at least partially convinced.

We eventually arrived on the roof of a building with the Assassin's crest near an open latticework over the roof. I was panting heavily, since I wasn't used to the heat. Altair seemed merely winded. He dropped down into the building. I was only seconds behind him, absorbing the impact by relaxing my muscles and collapsing into a roll. I found myself in a small-ish room, with a fountain right behind me and a pile of pillows in the corner. A closed door was next to the pillows, with an open one perpendicular to it. Altair went through the doorway, so I followed.

It was obviously an office, though there was a cot near the back wall. A bar separated a small portion of the room from the rest. Behind the counter were numerous cubby-holes, filled with scrolls. A man rested behind the counter, regarding me and Altair with a disdain bordering on outrage. He wore a black cloak over the traditional white assassin's robes, and had at some point or other lost his left arm. He exploded almost as soon as I walked in the room.

"What is this madness, Altair? Are you truly so arrogant that you believe you can do whatever you please? How dare you bring your harlot into the Bureau?" My eyes narrowed. Sexism. Raw, prejudiced sexism. In my time, I hadn't needed to bother with that stuff; I'd made other Assassins of both genders quiver in fear. I knew it was stupid to kill someone for a remark like that in this day and age, but I found my hidden blade sliding out regardless.

That seemed to shut him up. Altair, his voice smug, said "Do not be so quick to judge, Malik. I have brought her here for a reason. She claims to be an Assassin from the future. I'm loathe to believe it, but her clothing is far beyond anything I've ever seen; it's more exact than Al Mualim's script. Also, she managed to follow me here all the way from the Poor district. I feel her claim deserves at least some merit."

As he spoke, I retracted the blade. Malik seemed to actually take notice of me, noting my odd (for the region) coloring, my 'modern' clothes, and the fact that I was in possession of a hidden blade. Malik studied me, his eyes picking up everything in the manner I associated with the better Assassins. He spoke after several minutes. "You are certainly strange, but I must test you first, woman. What is the truth?"

I smiled. The ancient riddle was legendary, being where one of the Creed's core rules appeared. "We place faith in ourselves. We see the world for what it truly is, and hope that one day all of mankind would see the same." Malik raised an eyebrow, evidently not expecting the right answer. "What is the world?" he asked, to which I responded "An illusion, which we can either submit to, as most do, or transcend." Even Altair was paying attention. Malik, dutifully, asked "What is it to transcend?"

I answered assured of the truth in my statement. "To recognize that nothing is true and everything is permitted. That laws arise not through divinity, but through fate." The air was silent for a minute. The air seemed to still. Malik eventually spoke up. "You have proven that you are an Assassin, or the greatest spy in all of history. However, your tale of time travel bears questioning. How did you accomplish such an act?"

"Do you know about the Pieces of Eden?" I asked, not wanting to belabor about something they had no idea about. Malik stiffened, before the light of understanding shone in his eyes. Altair, apparently, wasn't so informed. "What are these Pieces of Eden?" He asked, with all his usual brusque. Malik snapped "They are beyond your ability to understand! Need I remind you that your target still lives? Go deal with him whilst the grown-ups talk!" The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees from Altair's glare, but he noticeably restrained himself. He stormed out of the room.

I listened as the man climbed out of the building. "Who shoved the stick up his ass?" I questioned, once his footsteps faded. On Malik's bewildered expression, I realized that slang wouldn't work. "Sorry. Vernacular of my time. I meant he seems extraordinarily arrogant and stubborn. Why is that?"

Malik chuckled dryly. "The boy is extremely skilled, I'll give him that much. He is barely 23 years, and yet he is already at the Master's right hand. His position and skill, as you've seen, has gone to his head. He believes that all he does cannot be challenged, using the phrase you've just revealed as his justification. His lack of wisdom has made him a menace." Here, Malik seemed to unconsciously rub his stump.

He spoke up once again. "I am familiar with the Pieces of Eden. It is why I am here to begin with. Two months ago, I, my brother Kadar, and Altair were sent to retrieve the Ark from Solomon's temple, though Al Mualim revealed to me the truth of the Apple afterwards. Altair broke every tenant of the Creed during the mission, killing an innocent that was 'in the way', revealing his location, and compromising the Brotherhood as it never had been before."

My eyes widened. Apparently, Altair hadn't been as golden as the texts described. Malik continued with his story. "Altair tried to assassinate Robert de Sable in plain sight. He failed, of course, being thrown from the room, leaving my brother and me to the mercies of the Templars. My brother died in the fight, and I escaped with the Ark at the cost of my arm. What is more, I was followed to Masyaf by an army of Templars. Hundreds died in the attack, all of them on Altair's shoulders."

Wow. If that guy hadn't been knocked down a few pegs by all that, then he was the biggest jerk on the face of the planet, no matter the time. I shook my head. Whatever happened to make this guy a model for Assassins, it had better come soon. Malik's voice broke me from my musing. "If you are from the future, as you claim, then tell me: what is Richard's next move?"

That was a tough one. I told Malik as such. "Malik, you have to understand that, to me, this is ancient history. I'm from the third millennium. Any information I give you, the dates might be off." He nodded, seemingly ready to accept that. "What's the date?" I asked, mentally trying to refresh myself on the Third Crusade. Thank God my mom had made it a major project.

"It is July 26, 1191, two weeks since Richard captured Acre." I analyzed the information. Okay, the next major event after that was the battle of Arsuf, but there had been another event of note before then. Finally, the factoid clicked in my head. I told him "Sometime in August, Phillip and Leopold will abandon him. Richard will have 3000 hostages killed publicly as a statement to Saladin. Shortly afterward, he'll march on Jaffa, but Saladin will ambush him at Arsuf, on September 7. However, reinforcements from the Knights Hospitalier and the Templars will assure Richard's victory. He'll take Jaffa and make it his headquarters."

I saw him mull over the information. I briefly considered how messed up the timeline would be if the Third Crusade ended in a victory of one side instead of a treaty. The ripple effect would have a field day; my time could wind up with Islam the dominant religion. However, even as my rational analytical side tried to consider the fall-out, something else spoke within me. A voice of a sixteen-year old girl, not as jaded, not as antisocial, more willing to cut loose and have some fun. The girl I could have been. _'Aw, screw it. Who cares, you'll never see what happens!'_

That was true; the mirror had disintegrated, and I had a gut feeling that mirror in this time had been similarly destroyed. I knew next to nothing on temporal-spatial relationships; it was just intuition. I wasn't ever going back to my time. I waited for the realization to hit me like a ton of bricks, fill me with emotion. Nothing. I hadn't had anything to tie me to my time. No one, no object, no home. I had been a nomad ever since the Templar incident. Odd that the place fate seemed to have in mind for me to settle down was the late 1100's.

Malik returned me to reality. "This information is crucial, if it is correct. I will send a message to Al Mualim. He will decide your fate. You will have to ride back to Masyaf with Altair." He spoke with obvious, somewhat exaggerated, sympathy. Well, the loss of family can make one hold a real grudge; I should know. I grinned. "Don't worry Malik; I'll make sure to annoy him so much that his only hope for it to stop is to shrink his head."

I meant it metaphorically, implying Altair had a big head. From the way Malik was laughing, I supposed he'd taken it literally. As his laughter resounded, my stomach loudly protested my lack of food. I realized I was starving. I'd been so annoyed with the heat; I hadn't noticed how hungry I was. Not unexpected, considering my last meal had been… 821 years from now? Okay, warped logic aside, I was hungry. And thirsty.

Malik chuckled on hearing the roaring beast within my digestive system. He waved a hand towards the courtyard. "The kitchen is through the doors. Eat your fill, and restock your knives at the armory." He had seen my belt. I nodded my thanks before entering the exiting the room and opening the door. I found myself in a room as wide as the office and courtyard put together, but only half as long. The building was a rectangle, so I wasn't surprised. The wall to my immediate left had a small window, and had a collection of weapons hanging on the walls. The rest of the room consisted of a small table with hand-carved chairs around it, an actual wood stove, and various pantries.

After restocking my throwing knives, which were surprisingly high quality for the time, I hunted up a few grapes, a loaf of bread, and some cheese. Three major food groups, right there. The modern world had become obsessed with the flavor of foods rather than their actual nutritional value. The simple meal was all the more filling for being so healthy. I found myself enjoying it.

I found a waterskin. I went to the courtyard to fill it from the fountain. I was just taking the first sip when a cacophony of bells filled the air, echoing across the city. Malik spoke up from the other room. "That would be Altair. I'd suggest moving, or he might land on you." I needed no more warning. I moved into the shadows, noting it was approaching sunset; time seemed to be on fast-forward. I drank the skin dry; the water was cool and delicious. I guess I should have expected that, since there weren't any factories to pollute the water. Ten minutes later, Altair fell through the latticework.

I shadowed him into the office. Malik hailed him. "Aw, the hero returns. I assume you have your kill." Silently, Altair showed a blood-stained feather. Malik seemed determined not to look impressed. "Congratulations, you've completed a task a novice would find easy. Rest and leave as soon as you're able." I saw Altair curl a fist. In my opinion, they were both at fault: Altair seriously needed to pop his ego, and Malik had to get over Kadar's death. I hated the Templars with a single-minded focus, but I'd long accepted my family's death. Malik should do the same.

"What will become of the woman?" Altair asked. He didn't sound sexist; more that I wasn't anything of importance, an object. I spoke up. "The woman has a name, Altair. It's Seraphim, as in 'the fiery one'. I let people who know me call me Sera. I enjoy classical music and watching Templars bleed out. You are a perfectionist with an attitude problem. There, we know each other. I'd like it if you'd use my name."

Independent women really must have been an oddity in this time; Altair seemed dumbstruck by my little speech, while Malik seemed to be restraining the urge to applaud. I cleared my throat. "To answer your question, I'll be riding back with you to Masyaf. Al Mualim will decide what to do with me. Personally, I'd prefer full-on Assassin, but maybe a woman would be too much a shock. Maybe an informant, since I know all that's going to happen. Oh, maybe a trainer; there's no greater incentive to get stronger than having your butt kicked by a girl." I tried to use as little slang as possible, but that last statement brought on another round of laughter from Malik.

Altair regarded me. He seemed to be reevaluating me. So far, he'd acknowledge I was skilled. Now, he seemed to be actually trying to figure out my personality. I wished him luck; corpses were open books compared to me. He asked me some actual questions. "Do you know how to ride a horse?" I honestly answered I'd never even seen a live horse in my life. To elaborate, I explained "In my time, there are self-propelled vehicles. People ride horses for entertainment or competitions, but almost no one does it for practical purposes."

"Then you will have to ride in the saddle with me." The thought didn't seem to either trouble or excite him. My sarcastic banter revealed itself. "Fine, but don't get any ideas. I'm a virgin, thank you, and have no immediate plans to change that status." Was that a blush? It might be, though the gloom of his cowl obscured it. Oh, I was going to get a lot of mileage out of this guy. If he wasn't a somewhat normal human being by the time we reached Masyaf, I'd have lost my touch.

Graciously, in my opinion, I spared him of any more of the 'Sera Marks' treatment. It was now night, though the heat still persevered, reflected off the light walls. I went into the courtyard, intent on refilling the skin. When I looked up, I experienced a rare moment of wonder. Stars. Millions of them. I'd never seen so many. Even in Canada, I'd been barely ably to make out Orion and the Big Dipper. Now, I was being treated to the celestial art of the North Hemisphere in its entirety.

I immediately decided that I wasn't moving from this spot for the night. I grabbed a few of the pillows from the pile, and made myself as comfortable as I could. Out of my peripherals, I was Altair lie down on the pile. I spent a few more minutes surveying the stars. His breathing didn't slow, so he wasn't asleep, which meant he had a few questions. He slowly removed his weapons, laying them within easy reach. He didn't take off his hidden blade; I hadn't either. I practically bathed with the thing.

Eventually, he spoke up. "I am curious. How is it that a woman became an Assassin?" I scoffed. "There have been women Assassins recorded as far back as the fourteenth century, in my time. It's not that hard to believe. In my time, women and men have equal rights in most parts of the world. We can do anything men can do, and take our own sweet time getting married, thank you." I knew that someone my age that was still 'pure' was odd for his time. I continued, "There are women in government and in the military. There are woman scientists and doctors. It's not that big a deal. Besides, we need everyone we can get to fight the Templars." He seemed to accept the information.

"What is the future like?" he asked. I decided to dazzle him a little, without anything concrete being said. The last thing I needed was a technological revolution in the twelfth century. "Information is exchanged at the speed of light. Journeys that once took weeks and months are made in hours and days. There is more sources of entertainment than you can count. It's not paradise, though. There's almost always one war or another going on in a part of the world. We have weapons that can kill thousands in an instant. The very air we breathe has become polluted by the fuel we constantly burn. I guess you could say it's both better and worse than things are now."

Altair was silent; the fact that the Assassin's dream for peace wasn't complete centuries later was a sobering thought. I took a brief moment away from my stargazing to grab a cleaning cloth. I started cleaning my blade while sneaking glances at the stars. I became absorbed in the task. "Were the Templars winning, in your time?" he asked, near a whisper. I nodded grimly. "To be honest, it was lost before I was born. They were too powerful, had too many resources. That's why I came back: to change things. To make sure what happened to me never happens to anyone else."

I tried to make it obvious I wasn't going to talk further. He nodded quietly. Just as I was convinced he was asleep, he spoke up once more. "You are strangest woman I have ever met. And the most fascinating." I smirked. "Don't forget mysterious. If you intend to hear my life story, you'll have to drag it out of me a word at a time." I heard the smirk in his voice. "I look forward to it."

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Et voila! Here it is! Please read this, I spend eight consecutive hours of my life on this. Respect the effort! Enjoy, and please review!**

**P.S. All details on the war are taken from Wikipedia. If I'm wrong, please inform me.**


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